


don't wait up for me (i've got a restless mind)

by starrydreams



Series: 2021 daily drabbles [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dissociation, Drinking, Intern Cecil, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, i just wanted to write sad cecil introspection, its 2am im tired, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28545780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrydreams/pseuds/starrydreams
Summary: Being an intern at Night Vale Community Radio Station was… hard. Cecil knew that well.
Series: 2021 daily drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091336
Kudos: 12





	don't wait up for me (i've got a restless mind)

**Author's Note:**

> first of many wtnv fics to come! pls feel free to leave requests in the comments or in my askbox @ kingfrumpkin on tumblr

Being an intern at Night Vale Community Radio Station was… hard. Cecil knew that well. He was a number of years into the program— a number he couldn’t remember— but he was certain he had twice the amount of existential crises and three times the amount of near-death experiences. It could be scary, sometimes, to face your own mortality and existence. It was scary to question your reality, if you truly existed if any of it existed. To do so several times a week was draining, feeling as if he never truly calmed down between panic attacks. (He found that the men’s bathroom by the sink was a great place to have panic attacks. Not sure why, though. It was a very strange place.)

It had been a harrowing day at the station that just left Cecil wanting to drink when he made his way, tiredly, to his small apartment. He had gone into the field upon Leonard’s request to get live updates on the librarian outbreak of that day. Cecil himself almost got mauled, the librarians having found him in his (not so well hidden) hiding spot. Thankfully one of the Sheriff's Secret Police was able to capture it before it did any real damage. He had a few scratches and claw marks, but the paramedics said he would be fine so long as he chanted praises to the gods while eating frozen grapes. Like— okay, he guessed.

He hardly had the energy to do much anything aside from dropping his keys on the kitchen table and flopping face-first into bed. He, thankfully, was able to drag himself into the kitchen and grab a bottle of whiskey he kept under the sink and hidden from Josie and Earl. “If you see something, say nothing, and drink to forget,” Cecil mused before taking a nice, long swig that burned the back of his throat in a comforting and familiar way— a grounding he had come to seek out. If it burned and he could feel, that meant he was real, right? Right.

Cecil made his way over to the couch and practically collapsed on it, but kept the bottle from spilling miraculously. He flipped through channels on the TV and took a swig at every mention of a librarian. Once he finally settled on a channel that played old westerns, he settled into the couch and started slowly sipping at the whiskey, desperately trying to keep his mind occupied with things other than the terrifying subjects of his work.

Sometimes he thought about just quitting, but he quickly shot down that idea. He was  _ prophesied _ about and, sure, there were a lot of prophecies about a lot of people, but they were always right and rarely good. He used to think that being the Voice of Night Vale would be the best thing and, don’t get him wrong! He loved it! It was just… the internship was wearing heavily on him. He had been an intern for what felt like an  _ eternity  _ and he was just ready to get to be the host! But he had no idea when that would be!

Another swig of whiskey comforted him and instilled him with a warmth he wasn’t sure he would ever find anywhere else. Every time his thoughts strayed to memories of childhood or ideas of unreality he would follow them all up with another swig. He kept drinking and drinking until he was pleasantly numb, feeling like a little pocket of warmth on his couch.

It was nice until the fears of existence started to creep in on him again.  _ You’re not real _ , a voice whispered.  _ You’re just a figment of a fickle god’s imagination. Nothing about you is permanent, true. You could disappear in a blink. Everything could! It would all just fade into a numb black as your consciousness left you. But it never really was a consciousness, was it? It was never your own thoughts. You’re as real as a child’s imaginary friend- _

Cecil jolted from his thoughts when he heard a glass break. His eyes flitted around the room, only to find nothing. He was confused until he looked down at his hand, clutching broken glass and covered in blood and whiskey, which started to make the new wounds sting. He took a shuddering breath as the pain-filled him and grounded him. He felt pain. He was part of the small group of people in Night Vale who could.

Slowly, he stood up from the couch and made his way to the bathroom. He cleaned and bandaged the hand as best he could and promptly went to his bed— the mess could wait til morning. Burying his face in the pillows, all he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep off these terrible, terrible feelings.

Deep down Cecil knew he would end up having a municipally approved nightmare, but he didn’t care. His eyes shut and he wrapped the covers around him until he felt himself slip into a deep, sleep, a sort of welcoming nonexistence. 

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave kudos/comments if u like!


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